


Slice of Life

by lovestillaround



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: M/M, implied depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 11:27:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14831412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovestillaround/pseuds/lovestillaround
Summary: their life consists of moments





	Slice of Life

**Author's Note:**

> it's a work of fiction, heavily inspired by the song _Slice of Life_ by Bauhaus and Barbara Kruger's artworks
> 
> i appreciate feedback/constructive criticism. [you can visit me on tumblr](https://lovestillaround.tumblr.com/)

  
  
The apple in his hand is green on the one half and red on the other, and the line where those colours meet is oblique.

“It’s a weird apple, isn’t it?”

“You are weird.”

It’s a running joke, something like ‘your mum’, and they both laugh.

  
*

  
His gaze hits the side of his face.

You can’t say it any other way without giving out the names or physical attributes, so you will never know who is looking at who. It doesn’t seem to matter because the truth is that they both are gazing at each other multiple times a day. You will just never know who is looking at who in this exact moment. Are you fine with that?

  
*

  
“Okay, but this one smells really good,” Dan says bringing his wrist to his nose. He should use the testing strip but he only just came here for two seconds max. He wants to grab a cologne that would be moderately okay – something with a gentle smell. He needed to abandon his favourite one because the meds kept messing around with his senses. He needs a scent that won’t burn his nose, he needs clothes that are either black or white because wearing colours is too big of a distraction for his wrecked mind.

He waves his arm in front of Phil, trying to get his attention.

“Stand still,” Phil says, leaning in to smell Dan’s wrist. It feels weirdly intimate in a perfumery full of people. “Yeah, I like this one.”

The lights are too bright and too white, and Dan feels as if he were in an alien spaceship when he walks up to the cash desk to pay for his one item. Alright, the item isn’t his yes. He needs to pay for it first, then it will belong to him forever. Well, not forever. The liquid will evaporate from his skin and then he’ll throw the empty vessel away.

The cashier has brown curls, just like Dan, with the difference that their hair is longer. Dan asks himself why it matters at all as he puts the box on the counter.

It’s strange that such a small difference in the appearance of two people would probably kill the present indifference if only it was the other way around – if it was him who had these long curls and these eyelash extensions, and these baby pink gel nails.

  
*

  
“I don’t know who I am.”

“That’s okay.”

The inner protest arises in Dan’s head, and Dan visualises it as something with a shape of an exclamation mark covered in tobacco sauce. It burns and it screams. He’s adapted some of Phil’s quirks after living with him for such a long time.

“It isn’t okay. You only said that because you don’t want to listen to me.”

The look on Phil’s face is rather apologetic. When he comes to Dan and touches him, his skin is cold. Dan wonders how long it would take for this cold to cross the distance between Phil’s fingers and Dan’s brain. Actually, it should be the other way around – the cold is only the absence of warmth.

“Sometimes I wonder how much I’m defined by my relationship with you. Or with my family, or my audience. Or even with the things that I possess, like clothes and stuff.”

Phil dyed his hair yesterday and its blackness is particularly deep today. “You are who you are and the way you interact with the world is a part of it.”

“Sometimes I want to rip it all off and see who I am.”

Phil smiles, in a way that could indicate that he’s smarter than Dan and that he knows better than him. He doesn’t know better. He’s just used to listening to the products of Dan’s inner torment.

“You can undress yourself and then see who you really are.”

“That’s not what I – “Dan stops in the middle of the sentence and squints his eyes a little.

He leans into Phil breathing in the smell of his skin. He doesn’t care anymore if he’s an individuum because the only thing he craves right now is to melt and meld with him. He starts to unbutton Phil’s shirt, aching for an access to him – access to his true form.

“Oh, nevermind,” he says, as if Phil hasn’t known already that the conversation is over.

  
*

  
Phil’s hands are sophisticated, in a way. Delicate, sometimes slightly shaky but always dainty. Elegant and pale, they are how Dan imagines the palms of a prince would look like.

“I love your hands.”

“I thought that you loved me.” Phil runs his hand through Dan’s curls, pushing his hair back.                                           

“Yes, but your hands…”

Phil laughs and it stops Dan from finishing the sentence. He looks at Phil’s face, a face that is so pretty when he smiles, and so pretty in general. Pretty is not always the most accurate word though, sometimes his features are aristocratically beautiful, sometimes unbearably hot.

Dan doesn’t know what makes Phil so different from every other person on earth. Some people could say that being with Phil is like an investment – for him, it’s more like basking in the divinity of a masterpiece.

  
*

  
“Are you mine?”

It’s not a question that Dan expects to be taken seriously.

“Yours.” Phil kisses his cheek. “Only,” he adds, moving up to look at Dan. His eyes are so gentle that Dan needs to protect himself from melting. That’s why he’s always so sarcastic and edgy. He needs to create a contradiction, a protective barrier. Sometimes he rips it off and sometimes other people rip it off, and there are things that get stuck to it like flies get glued to a layer of honey.

“You like freedom. We both like freedom.”

“It’s a freedom of choice.”

The kiss feels like a precise shot right into his chest.

  
*

  
“I can’t take it. I can bring myself to do something once in a while. I can bring myself to try and be charismatic and I wouldn’t say that it’s exactly a pose but every time I turn off the camera it all disappears. I am this person again that does nothing for days, that speaks silently or doesn’t speak at all, and then I lie in my bed with my laptop editing the video and looking at myself being so confident and energetic and loud makes me want to throw up.”

Phil rubs Dan’s knee with his fingers. Dan hopes that he won’t hear any advice from him.

“You’re on a battleground, Dan. And you’re winning.”

  
*

  
There are people in Starbucks, obviously, but surprisingly not that many. Maybe twelve.

“It’s funny how many people we’ve hugged in our life. Not everyone can say that they’ve hugged like, thousands of different people.”

“Yeah,” Phil says. His gaze is focused on his phone, and for a moment Dan doubts if he even listened. “It probably means more to them than to us.”

Dan isn’t sure what he means because they always discussed the tour as a possibility to connect with other people – with a mutual benefit for them and for the people who are watching their videos. Maybe not an equal benefit – but mutual.

“When I hug our fans, I like to think that I’m giving them something. That I’m showing them some love, giving them a short moment of comfort. But for me, your hugs are more important than any other ones.”

Another episode of blushing in a public place starts right now – Dan knows because he feels this familiar warmth on his face, and for a short moment, he is tempted to cover it with his big hands. He doesn’t do it.

There are only twelve people here. What’s the difference if they see it or not?

  
*

  
“You don’t need to be a hero. I don’t need a hero, I only need you.”

They had gone to the cinema to watch the new Avengers, and then they were discussing the plot and talking about the characters, as they always do. Those few sentences that come out of Phil’s mouth sound weirdly deep, even though definitely don’t carry that much significance. They are both only joking around but Dan feels a bit emotional.

Romance in the twenty-first century is like that. You are a slice of bread and sometimes a person picks you up and thinks ‘cool’ and eats you. Or you’re being thrown onto the ground for the birds to peck on your chunks. Or someone takes you, adds cheese and butter and makes a delicious toast out of you.

“I’m hungry.”

Phil chuckles. “You’re needy, Dan.”

“No, I just want pizza.”

Phil’s fingers caress Dan’s hand in the darkness of the street. Sometimes a touch is worth more than a thousand words.

Sometimes a touch is just enough.

  



End file.
